Press release from the Humboldt County Sheriff’s Office:

On Sept. 17, 2023, at approximately 7:30 a.m. an officer with the California Highway Patrol attempted a traffic stop for a vehicle code violation on California State Route 96 in Hoopa. The vehicle initially failed to yield and a short pursuit ensued, ending in the area of the 12500 block of SR-96.

Upon yielding, a male driver of the vehicle reportedly exited and fled on foot. The officer chased the man approximately 200 yards before overtaking him. A struggle reportedly ensued as the officer attempted to take the man into custody and an officer involved shooting occurred. The man was fatally wounded as a result. 

The Humboldt County Critical Incident Response Team has been activated. The Humboldt County Sheriff’s Office Major Crimes Division and the Humboldt County District Attorney’s Office are leading this investigation, in conjunction with the California Department of Justice.

This is an active investigation. More information will be released as available and appropriate.

Anyone with information about this case or related criminal activity is encouraged to call the Humboldt County Sheriff’s Office at (707) 445-7251 or the Sheriff’s Office Crime Tip line at (707) 268-2539.

In 2000, Louisa and I were staying in the old city of Nablus, in Palestine’s West Bank, which is about 60 miles east of Israel’s capital city Tel Aviv. For some reason now lost to time, I wanted to go there, assuming that a mere 60 miles could easily be traversed, despite the eternal antagonistic relationship between Palestine and Israel. Louisa, meanwhile, decided to head back to Jerusalem on her own — a simple matter, if you weren’t Palestinian.

I asked at a tiny travel office in the main square of Nablus if it was easy to get to Tel Aviv, and the guy made it sound simple: Get a sheroot (shared taxi) to Qalquilya, just inside Palestine, and from there it was a hop, skip and jump via taxi across the Green Line (the Israel-Palestine “demarcation”) to the Israeli city of Kfar Saba, From there bus to Tel Aviv. Easy peasy.

Stage One was, indeed, simple. My sheroot wound though rolling farmland to Qalquilya, a small dusty Arab town. We stopped near what appeared to be the heart of the place, in a crowded yard full of old yellow (but green-plated, i.e. Palestinian) cabs. I had been chatting to a guy who spoke fair English, and asked him to help me find what I imagined to be a shuttle service across the Green Line. One driver quoted me the equivalent of $10 to drive me across the border and on to Kfar Saba. Ten bucks? For what looked like three miles on the map? Back then, still in my student “there’s always a cheaper way” frame of mind—a holdover from student hitching days, I balked.

I kept asking around, and finally another driver indicated that he’d take me to—well, I wasn’t sure exactly—for five shekels, less than two dollars. We zigged and zagged through town while I ruminated about the third-world look of the shops and pot-holed streets. After less than five minutes we arrived at the edge of town, beyond the shops and houses, and turned onto a dead-end dirt street that ended at an embankment topped by a guardrail running at right angles across the road.

My driver stopped and pointed. “Kfar Saba,” he said. I peered ahead, expecting to see a checkpoint. Nothing, no one. Then I realized that a narrow paved road ran on the other side of the guardrail, with no connection to the road we were on. I thought he had made a mistake, and that I was to get on this cross-street, but he pointed straight ahead. Apparently I was to cross this road, which I now realize was the Israeli-controlled border road, and head straight ahead to … again, I didn’t know.

I paid him and clambered up the embankment, over the guard rail, across the paved road, and followed a trail of sorts through some scrub, heading for another paved road I could see up ahead. In happier times, I suppose it had been an extension of the road on which the taxi had taken me. Ten minutes later I hit the pavement and looked around. Other than a couple of youths on bikes, it was deserted. A trailer stood off to the side of the road and I could hear music playing from nearby. I started walking, still unsure of my bearings. The young men, about 18 years old, saw me and rode up. “Kfar Saba?” I asked them, pointing ahead down the long, empty road. They got off their bikes and came intimidatingly close, one on each side. “Where you go?” asked the taller one. I noticed their features—dark, swarthy, and thought, “Sephardic.”

I dug the little piece of paper out of my pocket on which I’d written what the travel office guy had told me. “Kfar Saba,” I repeated. The tall one roughly grabbed the paper out of my hand, glanced at it, then rubbed his fingers together in the universal symbol for “money.” “No money,” I said, remembering I had about $200 in shekels and dollars, along with my passport, in my daypack. “Yes, money,” he insisted. They we touching me now, and one grabbed my pants pocket as if checking if I had money in there. I felt a bit weary, but strangely, in retrospect, not afraid. “I don’t have any money,” I lied, and started to move away. They blocked me. “Money!” one of them yelled at me. As it finally began to dawn on me that I could be in a difficult situation, a sharp voice rang out from the trailer. We all looked over to where a guy was coming out of the trailer door, looking angry as hell. I took advantage of the diversion and started walking ahead, while the youths yelled back at the guy. He looked big and mean, and I wanted out.

The yelling took on warlike proportions, and I looked back to see him tear the taller kid’s tee shirt off his body. “Fuck,” I thought (irrationally!), “Maybe I should go and protect my erstwhile robber.” I think I even made a move back, but trailer guy looked up and gestured for me to move on.

I headed down the road to the accompaniment of a full-scale argument behind me. A couple more men appeared from nowhere and they all seemed to be lecturing the youths with the subtlety of sergeant majors, screaming at the top of their voices. It seemed to take a long time to get out of earshot of the fracas, and finally fear kicked in as I realized I could have been in deep shit back there. Why hadn’t I been afraid? Had they got knives? Did I have any chance of outfighting or outrunning my two potential assailants? (No.) In my mind, I started to picture worst-case scenarios, and they weren’t pretty.

It was a long hot walk to a main road, where — finally — I saw a sign, in Hebrew and English, to Kfar Saba. I stood by the roadside under a baking sun hitching for what seemed forever, as dozens of cars shot by me. Finally one stopped and a guy took me to the bus station in Kfar Saba, lecturing me the whole time in English why it was dangerous to hitchhike in that war-torn part of the world.

And soon I was on a bus to Tel Aviv.

On this week’s episode, Luis Villa, director of Latino Outdoors, joins the show to talk about how to make nature a safe, welcoming and inclusive space for all people. Latino Outdoors is a unique Latinx-led organization working to create a national community of leaders in conservation and outdoor education. By providing leadership opportunities and by changing the narrative about who are environmentalists, Latino Outdoors is helping to broaden the tent of environmentalism to make it more diverse and inclusive. 

A movie was a real event in my family during the 1930s and 1940s. My sisters and I planned days in advance to see a favorite film. The Humboldt Times, a morning paper, and The Humboldt Standard, an evening paper, were both published in Eureka. We took the evening paper, which arrived around 4 p.m. with a thump as the paper boy threw it on the porch. I would bring it inside and spread it out on the living room carpet to read the funnies. Among other comics were Popeye the Sailor, Mandrake the Magician, and Tillie the Toiler. The funny papers in the San Francisco Examiner, delivered on Sunday morning, were printed in color. Usually a paper doll of one of the comic strips, such as Blondie, was printed, with a few clothes. Newsprint was too fragile for paper dolls, but still we saved these, pasted them on heavier paper and then cut them out. Next, I turned to the movie section to dream over which movie my family might be able to see. Mother always saved the crossword puzzle to work during a quiet time by herself after the dishes were done in the evening, unless she had darning or mending to do.

Before Betty and I were born, our parents took our older sister, Patsy, to one of Eureka’s theaters, I think the Rialto, for a talent show. Patsy, at the age of four, was not shy. She marched right up onto the stage, sang in her perfect pitch voice “When It’s Springtime in the Rockies,” and won first prize — a miniature Singer sewing machine that actually sewed a chain stitch when you turned the handle on the wheel.

In the early thirties, first run movies, such as Shirley Temple films and “The Land of the Giants,” filmed in the town of Crannell, were shown at the State Theater in Eureka. Double feature “B” movies played at the Rialto Theater. As a child, I was not sure what was shown at the Liberty Theater, but its location in the Old Town area of Second Street was definitely out of bounds for my sisters and me. Sometimes the Standard carried ads for this theater featuring photographs of strippers like Tempest Storm, hiding her finer points behind soft ostrich feathers. The one time I attended a film at the Liberty Theater was when I was a freshman at Humboldt State College. A bunch of my friends and I sneaked over to Eureka to see a movie called “Mom and Dad.” We had to be furtive, because the mother of one of the girls was a teacher in Eureka. My friend’s mother would not have liked seeing her daughter run around town with a bunch of giggly girls to that theater. Actually, the sad little movie was a disappointment. It was supposed to be an enlightening experience about sex education, but we did not learn a thing we didn’t already know, which, to tell the truth, wasn’t much.

On Saturday mornings in the 1930s, the theaters featured serials — continuous movies that showed one episode each Saturday of a cowboy movie, such as Hopalong Cassidy, or a science fiction fantasy like Buck Rogers. The audience was enticed to come back the following Saturday for the next part of the story. Pat and her friend Fran sometimes went to these films, but they rarely took Betty and me, as we were “the little kids.”

My cousin, Mary Gillis from San Mateo, pored over movie magazines. She kept scrapbooks of special stars, including her favorite actress, Bette Davis. Mary gave us addresses we could write to in Hollywood for photos of our favorites. Soon we had “signed” photos of many movie stars.

If something special were playing, such as a Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy movie — my mother’s choice — my family went to the movies. We also managed to see practically every Shirley Temple movie that was filmed — Betty’s and my choice. America’s darling was our darling, too, and I even had some “Shirley Temple” dresses, gifts from my aunt in San Mateo. On those rare nights, my mother insisted the dinner dishes had to be done and the kitchen cleaned up before we could go. Movies started promptly at 7 p.m. Adults paid forty cents for admission, students twenty-five cents, and children ten cents.

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One night as we stood in line at the State Theater, I asked my father if I could have the money to buy my own ticket. He handed me a quarter. Although I was twelve, I was small for my age, and had still been getting into the theaters for a dime, if he bought the tickets. I was shocked and close to tears to find I received no change from my quarter. I felt that I had let my father down by insisting on buying my own ticket, when he could have saved fifteen cents by buying them all together. But looking back, I think now he really hadn’t minded, and that he understood how I felt about wanting to buy my own ticket. 

During the Depression the epitome of a nice figure was a “perfect thirty-six,” meaning a 36-inch bust, a 26-inch waist and 36-inch hips. Many teen-aged girls wanted to look like movie stars such as Betty Grable, Rita Hayworth, and Ann Sheridan, all probably “perfect thirty-sixes.” My older sister, Pat, was a perfect thirty-six, the only one of the three Olsen sisters to attain this goal.

The new Eureka Theater opened in 1939 with a forgettable movie called “Jeepers Creepers.” Everyone, including my family, wanted to go to see the huge new Art Deco theater, even though the film might not be of interest. On opening night, my sisters and I hurried through the dishes, grabbed our sweaters, and ran to the car. Searchlights scanned the heavens and drew attention to the new theater while Dad parked as close to the theater as possible, several blocks beyond the Eureka Inn and behind the library.

As we walked to the theater, and rounded the corner by the Carnegie Library, an old car filled with high school boys rounded the corner too. Yelling catcalls, the boys blew a strange sounding whistle at my perfect thirty-six sister, Pat. Ever since the time my father had struggled with a particularly difficult automobile repair, and my little sister, Betty, at the age of two, had looked up at him with her big brown eyes to innocently ask, “Is it a sonovabitch, Daddy?” he had been careful not to swear in front of us. But when these boys burnt rubber as they tore around the corner and blew their strange sounding whistle at my sister, I heard my dad mutter under his breath, “Goddamchippywhistles!” I had no idea what a chippy whistle was, or even a chippy, for that matter, but from the look on his face, I could tell it was not good. Pat walked with her head down. She did not acknowledge by a glance that she knew those boys were even alive, while Betty and I looked with awe at our father for using such language.

We had to stand in line for tickets at the box office — a little cubicle set close to the sidewalk in front of the covered entrance of the theater. Two ticket sales girls were busy in the booth that night with the door securely locked behind them. The double line stretched down around the corner by the candy store. Finally we got our tickets and went through the large plate glass entrance doors where another attendant took the tickets, tore them in half, gave our father the stubs, and deposited the other halves in a bin.

People stood around the huge lobby, staring open-mouthed at its grandeur. A concession stand to the right of the entrance doors filled the air with the wonderful aroma of hot buttered popcorn, but we never wasted money on popcorn or candy bars. In fact, we may not have had the money to buy those treats, but we girls didn’t care. We were there to see the theater. Wide staircases rose from both sides of the lobby to broad landings. The manager’s office was at the top of the left landing; a dressing room for usherettes was at the top of the right landing. Then each staircase turned and went up further to a second story lobby that led to the balcony seats and the restrooms. I had been used to the elaborate baroque décor of the State and Rialto Theaters. Somehow this ultra-modern building didn’t seem quite right. I missed the jewel-like chandeliers of the State Theater and the ornate carvings around the stage, thinking that’s the way a theater should be. We were all disappointed in the movie, “Jeepers Creepers,” and went home feeling that somehow we had not got our money’s worth.

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In the depths of World War II, a movie played at the Rialto Theater called “The Great Dictator,” starring Charlie Chaplin. Chaplin comically mimed Adolph Hitler, the German Nazi dictator. Chaplin and his cohorts all wore military uniforms and armbands with two black crosses, “the double cross,” instead of Nazi swastikas. Although we laughed until we cried at Chaplin’s antics, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to the people who had made the movie, if the Germans won the war?

Fortunately, that was not the case. But we all lived with the war every day, and agonized over our men and boys who were fighting in Europe and in the South Pacific. At the theater, before the main feature, newsreels, “The March of Time” or “Movie-Tone News,” were shown. Grown-ups in the audience waited with bated breath for these glimpses of the war. A cartoon was also shown before the feature film began — something to lighten things up a bit — to give us a laugh or two. But always in the background the monster of war hovered, ready to pounce.

Later, we went to see films in Technicolor. Among these were “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” and “Fantasia” — full-length animated Disney films — and “The Wizard of Oz.” I had read all the Oz books at the Carnegie Library. Dozens of Oz books. Dorothy and the Tin Woodman, the Scarecrow and the Cowardly Lion were all imaginary friends of mine. I’ll never forget my disappointment with the movie. In the book, Dorothy was much younger than Judy Garland, who played the part in the film. Besides, Dorothy in the book was blonde. At that time, filmmakers took all sorts of liberties with books, and changed them around to suit themselves. Only now can I appreciate what Hollywood did to one of my favorite childhood stories. They made it into a dream by starting and ending with black and white film. The dream sequence about the Land of Oz blazed in bright, new Technicolor.

The blockbuster film, “Gone with the Wind,” or GWTW, as my city cousin referred to it, was the only movie I remember that lasted four hours. It had an intermission after the first two hours. I had spent many rainy afternoons and weekends curled up in the big chair by the fireplace, gnawing on venison jerky my dad had made, and reading Gone with the Wind. The movie version of this book was completely satisfying, as it did not change a thing.

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My younger sister Betty, who was cute and fun, had many friends in high school. She embroidered a large, white sweatshirt on the front and back with big red letters: “B O” for Betty Olsen. Her friends all called her “B O”, or “Bee-oh”, and she thought it was hilarious because of the commercial on the radio for Lifebuoy Soap that supposedly stopped body odor. A deep “BEE-OHH” resounded in tones like a foghorn during this advertisement.

Some of Betty’s friends applied for jobs as usherettes at the State Theater. Betty went along, too, and was hired. The girls at this theater wore blue and white outfits of some kind of stretchy knitted fabric — not cotton, maybe nylon. Blue boleros covered blue and white striped tops over close-fitting blue pants with sixteen- inch bell-bottoms. Actually, the outfit was all one piece, except for the bolero, and fit like a second skin, with a zipper up the back. Rialto Theater usherettes wore this same outfit, but in red.

After my father died just before Christmas 1944, I worried about how my mother would manage without him. I wanted to help, and applied for a job at the Eureka Theater. I felt lucky to be hired, although I already had a part time job at Daly Brothers in their gift-wrap department, but that was just for special holidays like Christmas or Easter. The girls at the new Eureka Theater wore the same outfits as the girls at the State and the Rialto Theaters, except ours were a dark maroon color. On the day I was hired, the head usherette took me to the dressing room to show me my locker and to try on my new uniform. She thought it looked great.

Usherettes were paid the minimum wage of fifty cents an hour. I found to my chagrin, that since I was the only girl over sixteen years of age — seventeen and two months, to be exact — I was the only one old enough to close. I had to stay an extra hour, until the second show broke. By that time the last bus had already gone. Bus fare was ten cents. The cost of a cab home at fifty cents each night, took my extra pay. I worked that extra hour for nothing, but I felt I needed the job. The taxi company, consisting of a little shed-like building and one cab, was right across the street from the theater. After closing, I walked across the street, and Blackie, the driver, drove me home. I didn’t even have to tell him where to go after the first couple of nights.

However, the problem of working the last hour merely to pay for a cab ride home did not last long. One night when the other girls were changing into street clothes, and I stood at the theater door with tickets and a change purse, a group of five or six boys from Arcata High School, including Dale Hoosier and Frank Powers, stopped by. They did not seem interested in buying tickets, but just wanted to talk to me. Me? Mousy little me? The girl who was scared to even look at a boy at school? The one who wore glasses, and had been called “Four-eyes” by some ill-mannered boys?

The author at HSC, not long after her short-lived but eventful experience as an usherette at the Eureka Theater.

Well, they talked and kidded around, and it was kind of fun. But with no warning, one of those boys picked me up and whirled me around in a circle in the lobby just as the manager came down the broad staircase from her office. She became very angry, and sent them on their way. Then she fired me. I was aghast. For the first time in my life, I had been having a positive experience talking with a bunch of high school boys. They really seemed to like me, even though I wore glasses. Perhaps the usherette uniform I wore had something to do with their interest in me. As far as I could tell, I hadn’t done a thing wrong — except not know how to handle those boys. I felt devastated. I didn’t want to go into the dressing room where all the other girls were still changing, and have them know I had been fired. In my eyes, being fired was one of the worst things that could happen to a person. I choked down my tears and asked the manager if I could finish my shift. She agreed. I didn’t cry until after my cab ride home.

Years later, Marilyn Mellon Daugherty told me she, too, had worked at the Eureka Theater and had also been fired, so I was not alone in my anguish. Marilyn’s brother had been visiting from Southern California. One evening, he gave Marilyn a ride to work. When she went into the dressing room to change into her uniform, the head usherette told her she was late. She showed Marilyn the schedule indicating she should have been there at 6:30, but she had arrived at 7:00. Then the head usherette fired her. Marilyn also felt devastated. Jobs had been so scarce during the Depression, that if a person managed to get a job, he or she tried hard to keep it. Marilyn had never been late before. It did not seem right to be fired after being late just once. Sometimes schedules were changed. Perhaps she had not noticed the changed schedule. Not long afterward, Marilyn went to work at the Rialto Theater where Betty Lou Costa was head usherette. Marilyn spent many happy hours working with friends there and also at the State Theater.

After many years of disuse, both the State and Eureka Theaters have been restored to their original beauty, but the excitement I felt as a child going to the movies has disappeared. It has gone with the wind.

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The story above was originally printed in the Fall 2010 issue of The Humboldt Historian, a journal of the Humboldt County Historical Society, and is reprinted here with permission. The Humboldt County Historical Society is a nonprofit organization devoted to archiving, preserving and sharing Humboldt County’s rich history. You can become a member and receive a year’s worth of new issues of The Humboldt Historian at this link.

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.” — Richard Puz

Born February 26, 1997 in Arcata, but not alone — right alongside his twin sister Jessica, his mom Christine Evans and his dad Billy Evans Jr. — a beloved son, brother, uncle, grandson, nephew and cousin, Dakota passed away unexpectedly on September 4, 2023. Dakota’s untimely passing has not only left us shocked and heartbroken, but has left a hole in all our hearts.

Dakota was the type to give you the shirt off his back if needed. “Yota” or “Kodirtay” were better-fitted names, and that’s what you would hear friends and family call him. Born and raised in Humboldt County most his life, he was an outgoing, hardworking, kind and loving man. Dakota enjoyed the outdoors, like hunting and fishing, and whenever he got the opportunity to go out and help at the cabin you didn’t have to ask twice! Most of all he never missed a chance to venture down to the river with friends, family and his best friend, his dog Boss.

Dakota worked a variety of jobs throughout the years. The dairy was one of his favorites. He loved animals and he loved the cows. But he finally found his true calling in logging, just like his grandpa did for many, many years. He was always so eager to learn more about logging.

Behind the scenes Dakota helped his dad and family and found some joy in volunteering for the Fortuna AutoXpo. He loved hanging out playing video games with his cousins Jimmy, Tavin, Garyn and his nephew, or hanging with his buddies Mike and Renz! When he was home you could find him watching TV, movies with everyone or outside listening to music. Those are voids that will never be filled.

Just his laugh could make you laugh and he definitely knew how to put a smile on your face. If you couldn’t find him at home, he was lucky enough to live next too some close friends either Travis Muller, Marty Wheeler or Casey Cruz would know where he was. Dakota’s last wishes were to be cremated and put some with his brothers ashes and some out at the cabin.

Dakota recently enjoyed living in Klamath going camping, hiking, kayaking, and swimming with his brother Brandon, his Mom and very close friend Charlene. The whole community there was deeply touched by Dakota’s light and presence. Dakota was so proud of himself for making some wonderful changes in his life and looking towards the future.

Dakota has joined his brother Cameron, cousin Garrett and his niece Jessalynn.

Dakota was survived by his mom, Christine Evans; his dad, Billy Evans Jr.; his wife, April; grandparents on both sides Marcia Woods and her husband Larry, Steve Fortney, Pauline Evans and Billy Evans Sr.; Aunt Tammy Evans, Julie Gibbs; Uncles Ian Cooke and Paul Zitkiv; brothers and sisters Brandon Harper, Austin Evans, Jessica Evans, Billy Evans III his wife Melita Evans, Josh Evans and his wife Terri Evans; niece Aliana Klammes-Evans; nephew Riley Arriaga; so many cousins that will miss him — Hannah, Tavin, Jimmy, Garyn, Sarah, Amanda, Ryan, Angel, Zane, River, Devon, Kenneth, James and Isaac; and so many more friends and family he leaves behind. He will be greatly missed.

Two memorials will be held for Dakota. Please come join us to celebrate his life and what a great guy he was! Saturday, September 23rd at 2 p.m. below the Van Duzen bridge (take 36 exit, turn right, then the first left.) Sunday, September 24th, early morning at the community church in Klamath.

The obituary above was submitted on behalf of Dakota Evans’ loved ones. The Lost Coast Outpost runs obituaries of Humboldt County residents at no charge. See guidelines here. Email news@lostcoastoutpost.com.

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If you’re a parent, you know how kids get when they can’t go to their favorite playground. So those who frequent Redwood Park will be happy to know that the park’s new playground equipment is on its way and should be ready to be climbed on by rambunctious children before the end of October. 

Emily Sinkhorn, environmental services director for the City of Arcata, told the Outpost that the Redwood Park Playground Improvement Project is right on track, with the repaving nearly done and the playground surfacing and equipment expected to be installed on the week of Oct. 9. 

The City has been planning these improvements for a while now, and you might remember that last year the community was asked to weigh in on the new playground design through an online survey. Out of the eight different options, the theme that gained the most votes was “castle adventures,” and after taking the survey results to the Parks and Recreation Committee and gathering the committee’s feedback, city staff worked with contracting firm Miracle Playsystems to come up with a castle-themed playground that would work for the park. 

What the park looks like right now | Photo: Stephanie McGeary

Once complete, the playground will include two new play structures – one for 2 through 5-year-olds and a larger structure for five to 12-year-olds – as well as a new swingset, a spinneround and an inclusive whirl, which is one of those ground-level spinning circles that is accessible for people in wheelchairs. The playground will be resurfaced with unitary surfacing, which is soft, shock-absorbent and wheelchair accessible. The surfacing includes a river design with three-dimensional fish and rock sculptures sticking out. 

The project also includes the installation of a pump track – a special type of track for wheeled sports equipment that doesn’t require pushing or pedaling, but rather a pumping motion, to maintain momentum. The tracks include a series of rollers, which are the bumps in the track, and berms, which are the curved corners of the track. The track was designed with help from the Redwood Coast Mountain Biking Association and is similar to the pump track in Fortuna’s Newburg Park. Sinkhorn said the track is also expected to be complete in October and has already been built, but still needs to be paved. 

Sinkhorn wanted to thank families for their patience through this process (she knows how much kids love their playgrounds) and is glad that there are a lot of other neighborhood parks in Arcata where people can take kids to play. 

Of course, there is something special about Redwood Park and its setting among the beautiful redwood trees of the Arcata Community Forest, and Sinkhorn said she is very excited to have the playground accessible to the public again. 

“We’re really excited to unveil the results,” Sinkhorn said, adding that there will be an announcement and probably a ceremony as soon as the playground is ready to reopen next month.

Scroll down for more image renderings of the future playground and/ or view the full design plans here. 

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From the California Department of Transportation:

Simulation

We want to hear from you!

Caltrans invites the local community to share their input about the proposed gateway monuments in Manila.

Gateway monuments have been considered for placement along SR-255 for visibility in both directions. The purpose is to greet motorists to the community and remind them to adjust their speed and care for the residential area.

Community engagement and feedback is an important part of project development to ensure local voices are being heard throughout the process.

The public is encouraged to take the online survey about the need, location and design for the proposed project.

You can find the survey at tinyurl.com/ManilaGatewaySurvey. Be sure to visit and let your voice be heard about this community project.

The survey will be open until Sunday, Sept. 17, 2023, at 11:59 p.m. 

Simulation.

About the Campaign:

Clean California State Beautification projects are made possible through Governor Gavin Newsom’s Clean California initiative, a sweeping $1.2 billion, multiyear clean-up effort led by Caltrans to remove trash, create thousands of jobs, and engage communities to transform public spaces. Since 2021, the program has removed 1.4 million cubic yards of trash, created 3,500 jobs, and awarded $300 million in local grants. Visit CleanCA.com to learn more about how Clean California is transforming communities and educating the public.